


B2MEM 2014 - Winter in Arnor

by KayleeArafinwiel



Series: B2MEM 2014 - Aragorn in the North [5]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-16
Updated: 2014-10-07
Packaged: 2018-01-15 22:10:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 4,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1320982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KayleeArafinwiel/pseuds/KayleeArafinwiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aragorn's first winter as Chieftain comes with dark times ahead. But even in dark times, hope may come.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. B2MEM 2014 March 16 - Two Peredhil, a Ranger, and a Blizzard

The blizzard continued, and Aragorn found himself trapped alongside his foster-brothers, the sons of Elrond. The Peredhil had found a cave large enough to hold the three of them, and as the fire leaped up, Aragorn relaxed slightly. At least they were safe and warm, even if it was frozen outside their shelter! “Lord Ossë is most wroth here, even so far from the Sea,” Aragorn remarked. “Think you, henair nin, that he will allow the storm to fade any time soon?”

 

“Mayhap,” Elrohir replied. “In the meantime, let us find a way to occupy our time, for we cannot venture out into the storm. Night has fallen, and it is clear you are weary. What would you have us do, hanar dithen?”

 

Aragorn thought about it, and offered his brother a mischievous smile. “Will I get a glass of water and a bedtime story ere we sleep?”

 

Elladan chuckled, fishing out his hip flask. “You tell us the story, and you will have all you like to drink, hanar dithen.”

 

“Me?” Aragorn blinked. “What story shall I tell?”

 

“Tell us what you think of Tâduin, and your family,” Elrohir said encouragingly, and Aragorn’s brow creased. He took a sip from the flask Elladan handed him, and felt warmer at once.

 

“Well, Uncle Carangil and Daeradar have been wise counsellors to me in my time of need,” Aragorn began. “They have seen many winters in Tâduin, and I am most grateful for the advice they have been able to give me. My uncles, too, have been of great help when it comes to the governance of Tâduin, if not all of Arnor.” He frowned slightly. “I know our communities are many and scattered, but I would still like to know more of my folk outside Tâduin and the Bree-lands.”

 

“In time,” Elladan assured his little brother. “You have time yet, hanar dithen.”

 

Encouraged, Aragorn nodded. “My heart will be glad, even in the winter, to see my people.” As the trio continued their discourse, the storm raged on outside.


	2. B2MEM 2014 March 17 - When Winter's Chill Begins To Bite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the blizzard, Aragorn makes it back to Tâduin, and to fateful news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Non-graphic death of a fairly important original (i.e. non-canon) character.

 

The blizzard had blown itself out by the next morning, thankfully, and the Peredhil helped Aragorn as they dug their way out. It was not too difficult of a trek back to Tâduin, with the sons of Elrond helping Aragorn along, he found. He was just grateful that naught too terrible had happened to his people in his absence. As Dirhael wryly put it, “We’ve lasted for eighteen years on our own, lad; one more night shouldn’t make too much difference.” The only thing that worried Aragorn was that Carangil had insisted on going out to look for him.

 

“Has Uncle Carangil returned?” Aragorn demanded, even as Halbarad and Hallatan were seeing him into a hot bath. The sons of Arneth and the Peredhil joined him in the steamy bathing pool, and Halbarad nodded.

 “He has returned, Little Brother. He caught a bit of a chill out there, but he should be fine.” _I hope,_ a glance to Hallatan said, and Hallatan agreed silently. “At any rate, he has been apprised of your return, and he will be glad to see you, once you have warmed yourself sufficiently.”

 

Aragorn was glad to do so, and once he had wrapped up well against the chill, he made his way to Darwisa’s lodge, where he knew Carangil would be residing if he was ill. Carangil looked rather worse than his cousins had told him, Aragorn thought angrily as he looked down on his sleeping great-uncle, pale and still. But then Carangil stirred and coughed. “Is that you, my dear lad?” he whispered. “Nephew…”

 

“I am here, Uncle,” Aragorn said, clasping his uncle’s hand tightly.

 

“Arathorn…” Carangil whispered, and Aragorn’s eyes widened. “Arathorn,” Carangil whispered again. “Yes, Nephew, I see you clearly now. I come.” With a shuddering breath, Carangil went still, and Aragorn felt the cold seep into his own bones. _No. No,_ he thought, choking back a cry, grinding his teeth together. He bowed his head over Carangil’s still form, and Darwisa came toward him, looking pained as the truth became clear; her foster-sister’s husband was gone. Bowing her head as well, she whispered a prayer in her birth-tongue for the Wind God and the Star Goddess, the Lord of the Dead and the Father of All to come and bear Carangil away with kindness, that they would forgive him his sins and remember him with honour.

 

“He thought…I _thought_ he thought I was Adar, Auntie Darwisa,” Aragorn said numbly. “But then he said…he _saw_ Adar, that Adar had come to take him.”

 

“May it be so,” Darwisa said softly. “The Gods look with great favour upon your folk, and I love them as my own. I must tell Firiel,” she added sadly, thinking of how her foster-sister would take this.

 

“I will tell Amdir, then,” Aragorn replied. He hoped Amdir would not be angry with him for not summoning him at once; a son should know how his father had died, surely. At least, he thought, Carangil had been in the presence of his beloved nephew, Aragorn’s father, at the last…and Arathorn had taken him home.

 

He hoped that would be enough for Amdir and Firiel.


	3. B2MEM 2014 March 18 - Hurt and Betrayal?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As he makes his way to tell Amdir the news, Aragorn is extremely worried that his cousin will see this as a betrayal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, yes, it's practically October now - tomorrow it will be, anyway - and my Arnor-muse has been absent for half a year. But I am determined to finish up this year's B2MEM before the New Year if it kills me, haha.

Aragorn made his way to Amdir’s lodge, feet moving almost woodenly as he shuffled through the snow. Not for the first time, he wished he had his foster-brothers’ Elven grace, but it was not to be. Still, clumsy as he felt, it wasn’t long before he was standing before the deerskin flap, and he pushed it aside, stepping in and facing the welcome warmth of the fire.

 

“Be welcome, Cousin,” Amdir said solicitously, greeting his Chieftain with a slight bow. Aragorn shifted slightly in the presence of the older Man, and merely bowed his head in return.

 

“Thank you for your greeting, Amdir,” he said quietly. “I have been to see your father.”

 

“How fares my father?” Amdir asked, stiffening slightly. “Is he well? He was in pain when last I saw him.”

 

“He is no longer in pain,” Aragorn said. That much, at least, was truth. He exhaled slowly. “Uncle Carangil…Amdir, I…”

 

Pain ghosted across Amdir’s face, and he strode forward, pulling his younger cousin into his arms. “Aragorn. _Aragorn.”_

“Amdir, I am so sorry, I did not…I could not, I was not in time, I…”

 

“ _Aragorn.”_

“Yes, Amdir,” Aragorn said meekly.

 

“I wish I had been told sooner,” Amdir said, carding his fingers through Aragorn’s hair as he held the young Chieftain. “But it is not your fault, Cousin. Adar has always been frail of health since…the attack, and it is merely a surprise that he survived as long as he did.”

 

“He called out for my _adar_ as he lay dying,” Aragorn said quietly. “He said Arathorn had come for him.”

 

Amdir smiled then, relieved. “Then he went peacefully,” the older Man murmured. “That is well. I am glad.”

 

“I will miss him, Amdir,” Aragorn whispered.

 

“And I,” Amdir replied. “But have no fear, Cousin, I do not blame you.”

 

The young Chieftain’s heart was eased.

 

“Thank you, Amdir.”

 

“You are most welcome, Aragorn.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I picture Amdir in his sixties or so. Aragorn is 20.


	4. B2MEM 2014 March 19 - Celebration of Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Over the next few days, an unexpected visitor to Taduin helps the Dunedain properly farewell and honour Carangil's loss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to Berni/Rhyselle and to Susana for the inspiration on Dunedain funeral customs.

Twig by twig, branch by branch, the people of Tâduin carefully adorned the pyre. Carangil had lain in state, as befit the younger brother of a Chieftain, and now his star had been passed to Amroth, who held it for young Curonthor, his own heir. The body, shrouded in Carangil’s cloak, was settled on its final bed by Amdir and Aragorn together, while Firiel and Fanuilos led the women in weeping for their husband and father-in-love.

 

Silivren and Gilwen, still children, clung to Fanuilos’ skirt and watched as Amdir and Aragorn returned to their places. It was Auntie Darwisa, Firiel’s foster-sister of Harad, who stepped forward, scattered the incense and lit the pyre.

 

As the flames leapt into the night, the men began to beat the drums with their hands. The women keened, weaving their melody into the rhythm, and the children danced, Silivren and Gilwen being spun round by their equally young cousins. The boys and girls hopped and twirled, leapt and spun to the rhythm of their fathers’ and mothers’ singing and drumming, and suddenly a new voice wove itself into the melody. Clear and sweet, the voice was yet inhuman, and slowly the children stilled, turning to look.

 

Aragorn, too, ceased in his drumming and his breath caught.

 

Galadriel raised him to his feet, and gestured for them to continue as she whirled him into the dance.

 

“Carangil was good to me and mine, young Estel,” she whispered as they danced and wept together. “I came as soon as I felt his decline, and went as swiftly as I dared.”

 

“I thank you, Daernaneth,” Aragorn said, his heart aching. “How fares Arwen?”

 

“Well,” she replied gently. “Why do you ask?”

 

Aragorn was silent, and guarded his heart. This night was for remembering Carangil.

 

The next morning, Galadriel and her escort helped the Dunedain gather the ashes into a small casket. Rites were carried out throughout the day, gifts and blessings offered to Amdir’s family. In the evening, Galadriel offered the box to Amdir, but glancing at his mother, he shook his head, bowing his head respectfully to the Lady.

 

“My Lady, if it please you, bear my father’s remains to your wood, where he will indeed be safe. Scatter his ash to the wind or do with it as you will. Your warriors saved him in his time of need, and I think he would rest most easily in the home of those who so loved him.”

 

Galadriel agreed, and speaking an Elven blessing over the remains, she took her leave of her hosts the following morning, returning to Lothlorien. After much deliberation, the Lady scattered seeds amongst the ashes, pressing a mallorn nut in the centre, and closed the box a final time. She offered a prayer to the Lords of the West, if they would deign to hear her, that one day she would know the right use for this blessed box – to become an instrument of life once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Northern Dunedain's ancestors, of course, used barrows, but those have been despoiled by the Enemy and I can see them rather burning the bodies than having them haunted by wights. I can see them usually resting the body and some of the person's belongings in a burning boat to float down the Tithenduin, but the river is frozen in winter.


	5. B2MEM 2014 March 20 - Hope Amidst The Darkness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After farewelling their grandfather, the daughters of Amdir want to be sure that Mettare will go on as Carangil would have wished it.

"Aragorn?" Gilwen tugged on the young Chieftain's hand, and Aragorn swung the child up onto his hip.

 

"What is it, little starling?" he asked, and she met his grey eyes with her own anxiously.

 

"Adar says the Mettare celebrations might be called off. Because of Daerada."

 

Aragorn winced internally, but he made sure to keep a calm front. "Do *you* think your daeradar would have wanted the celebration to be called off, little starling?" he asked the five-year-old seriously.

 

"I think Daerada _would_ be sad if we didn't have Mettare," Gilwen said carefully. "He loved Mettare, Ada said so."

 

"Uncle Carangil, your Daerada, did indeed love Mettare very much," Aragorn replied. "He would be greatly honoured if we held the celebration as we always do. But you and Silivren shall have to show me how Mettare is done here, little starling. I think Uncle Carangil would be very pleased if you did that for me. Will you?"

 

Gilwen listened carefully, and nodded. "Uh-huh. We will, promise."

 

"That is settled, then," Aragorn said fondly. "We shall have Mettare, just like always."

 

Gilwen squealed in delight, and once he set the little girl back on her feet, she made a great show of dragging her older cousin behind her from one lodge to the next, shouting to cousins and aunts and uncles that Mettare _was_ still on, because Cousin Aragorn said so and he was the Chieftain. Aragorn, blushing, had to endure the approbation of his elder relations, their approval of his decision embarrassing him.

Raised by the Elves as he had been, he knew Mettare as a spring festival rather than Midwinter, and so he listened carefully as his myriad kindred, especially the children, rattled off the various necessities required for a proper Mettare.

 

Seven-year-old Silivren and little Gilwen seemed primarily focused on presents, though they reassured Aragorn they didn't need presents from him if he didn't have any. (Aragorn intercepted a wink and a smile from his Aunt Morwen that promised aid in that difficulty, and relaxed.)

 

With the aid of his grandparents, uncles and aunts, Aragorn assured Mettare would be celebrated on schedule and with all the proper ceremony, and when the day was done he fell into his bed, exhausted. He removed his father's journal from its deerskin pouch above his bunk, carefully opened it to Mettare 2931, and began to read of that long-ago celebration twenty years past, his very first. Before he had got far, he fell asleep.


	6. B2MEM 2014 March 21 - The Turning of the Year, Part One: Mettare Surprises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mettare 2951 brings more of the family to Taduin, along with some surprising guests...

The days leading up to Mettare passed swiftly for Aragorn. There was so much to be _done!_ The lodges were festive, with balsam ropes hung from the ceiling poles, _pan-nestad_ or all-heal sprigs hanging from every door - Aragorn was much flustered to hear from Silivren that in Tâduin, if a male and female crossed under _pan-nestad_ together, they were obliged to kiss, but he accepted chaste kisses from his grandmother, aunts and grown cousins gamely. He gave Silivren and Gilwen kisses on the brow whenever they danced through a door he was passing. He only wished that Arwen were there, that he might accept a proper kiss from someone!

 

Gilraen’s brothers’ families had come home under cover of night. His Uncle Beren had brought in a bear – where he found it, Uncle Beren would never tell Aragorn. “It was fat and sleepy, and an easy kill,” Beren’s son Drauchir bragged to Aragorn. “Ada let me help.”

 

Aragorn covered a look of alarm – Drauchir was only ten, and clearly thought the world of his father, but Aragorn did not expect killing a bear to be so very simple for one man, especially if there were possible cubs involved. He was too young to _help_ his father bring down a bear.

 

“Do not exaggerate, nephew,” Uncle Rirostor cut in. The eldest of Gilraen’s brothers, he was younger than Nessanie, but older than Herthedir and Beren. His own sons, Eluchil and Saeros, came to look at their young cousin disapprovingly. Eluchil was twenty-six, and Saeros twenty, Aragorn’s own age. “We helped Uncle Beren with the bear,” Saeros said. “Drauchir was just a lookout.”

 

“There is nothing wrong with being a lookout, young Wolf,” Aragorn reassured Drauchir, who was looking angry and embarrassed. “I am sure you all three did well in assisting Beren. The bear will be good eating at the Mettare feast; you all have much to be proud of.” Drauchir stood straighter, and flashed a look of admiration at Aragorn.

 

Beren, too, gave his nephew an admiring, pleased look, clapping his hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “Well done, Aragorn,” he said. “Walk with me, sister-son.”

 

Aragorn did, studying his mother’s youngest older brother as they went. His tangle of brown hair resembled nothing less than sheep’s wool, he thought with interest. “You call me ‘sister-son’ in the manner of Rohan,” he said after a while. “Ada Elrond taught me that the Northmen speak so.”

 

“My wife, Dulinnis, was born Aelfgifu of Edoras,” Beren explained. “My sons and daughter were born in Rohan, and speak Rohirric as their birth-tongue. But when Drauchir was seven, we removed to Arnor, and have come home for Mettare ever since.” His elder children, Tawien and Tonir, looked close enough in age to be twins, Aragorn saw.  “Tonir turned thirteen last month,” Beren explained, “and Tawien, who has become a woman, will be fourteen next month.” Aragorn nodded his understanding. 

 

“It must be hard, Uncle, for Aunt Dulinnis to have moved so far away from her family,” he said. Beren shook his head.

 

“Her father died when she was too young to remember, and her mother died this past winter,” he said quietly. “She is happy to remain in Arnor now. But what of you, Aragorn? How do you find Tâduin?”

 

So Aragorn began to tell of the things he had learned, and the family he had found. It was different than Imladris, but in a good way, he concluded. These were his people, and it was right that he should know their ways and customs.

 

“So it is, sister-son,” Beren said, grey eyes twinkling. “A Ranger of the North is what I have been, and so I shall always be, despite my ‘barbarian’ ways, as some are wont to call them.” He shot a tolerant look in his eldest brother’s direction and laughed; it appeared to be an old family joke.

 

“Is the way you wear your hair the style in Rohan?” Aragorn ventured to ask. Beren shook his head, chuckling. “Oh, no – this tangle of curls is something I was born with, or near enough,” he said wryly. “ _Adar_ was not best pleased with the jests that _Naneth_ had deceived him, for me to have developed such an odd trait. But I know _Naneth_ is an honourable woman. Gandalf explained to us that sometimes odd traits crop up at random, that _Adar_ mustn’t fret about being his child, for I was that most certainly. And when I went to the borders of the Shire with my brothers, they called me “Woolcap”, and the Hobbits asked me whether I might be some sort of giant Hobbit, under Gandalf’s spell!” He laughed again. “But it is true the Hobbits are fonder of me than they seem to be of most Rangers.”

 

“The Rangers have named me “Trotter”,” Aragorn said, and the men clasped hands.

 

“Well met indeed, young Trotter,” Beren said, and the pair returned to oversee the preparations.

 

Before they had got far, though, the cry went up. “Mithrandir!” “Gandalf!” “The Grey Wizard has come!” Sure enough, Gandalf the Grey was entering the village, his smoke-rings preceding him. Aragorn ran to  meet him, forgetting his composure. There were even some few Hobbits with him, helping to carry a large sack! Others had pheasants and partridges, and other foodstuffs as gifts.

 

“Mae govannen, Mithrandir, small masters and mistresses! Welcome to Tâduin,” Aragorn said, and the Wizard smiled benignly.

 

“Thank you, young Estel – Aragorn, now! We have come a long way since that small boy who spied out my Dwarven companions in the Hall of Fire, have we not?”

 

“And a Hobbit,” Aragorn reminded him, grinning ruefully. The Hobbits looked at Aragorn, then Gandalf with interest.

 

“Ah yes indeed – Master Baggins, Aragorn. He saw you too, you know. I have just come from Bree with your uncles and my young friends; Tooks, Brandybucks and Bree-hobbits all, but we will be returning from the Wilds shortly.”

 

Safflower Sandybanks, a distant cousin of Bilbo’s through her Goodbody mother, turned to smile at Beren. “Woolcap! You are here!” The Ranger bowed, and Gandalf smiled. “My friends, here is something for the moment for you all!” He fetched the sack the Hobbits had been carrying, and opened it to reveal many carefully-wrapped gifts. The children surged forward, scrambling to find their names, while Gandalf brought one package specifically to Aragorn. “Here you are, Aragorn – from Bilbo Baggins, himself.”

 

Aragorn carefully unwrapped the package. It was a book – _There And Back Again, A Hobbit’s Journey, by Bilbo Baggins,_ carefully penned and illustrated. Aragorn turned the pages reverently, smiling when he saw the depictions of a small boy peeking out of his hiding place to goggle at thirteen Dwarves and a Hobbit gathered in Master Elrond’s Hall of Fire. “Thank you, Gandalf, and please thank Master Baggins for me.”

 

“I will, indeed,” Gandalf promised. “A joyous Mettare to you, my young friend, and may we share many more.”

 

Aragorn echoed the sentiment, and the Hobbits broke into “The Turning of the Year” as their gifts of fowl were set to roasting over the Mettare fires. The Rangers joined them, and Aragorn’s spirit soared. _This is what Uncle Carangil would have wanted_ , he thought, as Gilwen, new doll in hand, burrowed into his side.

 

 

 

 


	7. B2MEM 2014 March 22 - The Turning of the Year Part Two: Yestare Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is, chronologically, the last B2MEM chapter of "Aragorn in the North". The next story will focus on Spring 2951, jumping back to Aragorn's first season in Taduin. This chapter, however, celebrates the turning of the year into the next - and a turning point in Aragorn's life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I disclaim the quotes from "The Hobbit". Gandalf and Aragorn are just having fun. :P

The celebrations had lasted long into the night, but at last the inhabitants of Tâduin, permanent and less so, had made their way to bed when the revelry was over. The next morning was Yestare, the New Year’s beginning, and it came bright, clear, and cold. Snow lay thick upon the ground, and Aragorn stood at the edge of the village, staring out into the Wilds, when he heard someone approaching. He turned – it was Gandalf!

 

“Good morning!” said Aragorn, quite thoughtlessly considering his reading material the night before.

 

“What do you mean?” said Gandalf, with a twinkle in his eye. “Do you wish me a good morning, or mean that it is a good morning whether I want it or not; or that you feel good this morning; or that it is a morning to be good on?”

 

Aragorn groaned, but he smiled wryly at the Wizard. “All of them at once,” he replied, and Gandalf chuckled.

 

“So it is, Aragorn, and a fine morning for a pipe of tobacco out of doors into the bargain,” the Wizard added, finishing the exchange from memory. Aragorn’s interest was piqued.

 

“Tobacco, Gandalf?”

 

“Ah, yes, the Halflings’ Leaf. _Old Toby,_ they call it, or _Longbottom Leaf –_ ‘tobacco’ you see comes from _Old Toby._ It is popularly called _pipe-weed_ as well, or _Westman’s-weed_ south of here, in Gondor; the leaf apparently has its origin in Numenor. The Hobbits of the Shire introduced me to it; they make an art out of smoking it. It is rather enjoyable,” Gandalf chuckled. “Old Toby is but the most popular variety – there are others. Still, it is common enough for Rangers to begin the habit of smoking in order to better fit in with their Hobbit neighbours.” He took out his pipe, filled it, and lit it. The smoke-rings he puffed out amazed Aragorn – they flew hither and thither, wherever Gandalf wished them to go, in more colours than the young Chieftain had ever thought possible. The smell was strange, Aragorn had to admit.

 

“Did my father take up smoking?” Aragorn asked, and Gandalf nodded.

 

“He was twenty-five when he had his first pipe,” the Wizard replied, “and when you come of age to have it, it will be yours.”

 

 _I am of age,_ Aragorn thought with some annoyance, but when he saw Gandalf looking knowingly at him from beneath his impossibly bushy eyebrows, Aragorn blushed. He was still a young man, he conceded, and perhaps there was much for him to learn before he took up this art Gandalf found so enjoyable. It was less than five years now; perhaps that would pass quickly.

 

“Good morning!” he muttered, now quite deliberately.

 

“What a lot of things you do use _Good morning_ for!” Gandalf replied with mock affront. “Now you mean that you want to get rid of me, and it won’t be good till I move off.”

 

“Not at all, my dear sir!” Aragorn replied defensively, but Gandalf ignored him.

 

“To think that I should have lived to be good-morninged by Arathorn Aradorion’s son, as though I were selling buttons at the door!” he huffed, and he glared at Aragorn, who glared right back, until neither could take it any more and they laughed together.

 

“I am so sorry,” Aragorn sighed, shaking his head when he had calmed. Gandalf merely chuckled.

 

“Do not be sorry, Estel! I have not had so much fun since that Adventure, I assure you.” He smiled slightly. “And speaking of Adventures, I think another one might just be in order.”

 

“To punish me for my rudeness, no doubt.”

 

“Ah, no, my young friend.” Gandalf’s smile faded. “You forget, Aragorn, you are yet Estel indeed, the hope of your people. If one day you are to be their king, first you must know your allies, as well as your enemies. The Dark Lord is laying his plans – so, too, must you. It is a new year, now – you must move before he does.”

 

Aragorn straightened. “Where do you suggest I go, Gandalf?”

 

“Fengel King is old,” Gandalf said. “He will not give you a friendly hearing. His heir, Thengel, dwells in Gondor, and has married a Gondorian wife. Thengel’s daughters, and son Theoden, were born in Gondor. Learn of Rohan and its ways. You have kinsmen who will aid you. My brethren and I will keep the Enemy from your doorstep as long as we may, learning his plans and confounding his traps. When Thengel returns to Rohan, go and offer your service. Take at least one kinsman with you, and let Rohan lead you to Gondor.”

 

Aragorn nodded. It was a sound plan, he supposed, though he did not like leaving Arnor again so soon after arriving. But, he admitted, he must know how well the Dunedain of the North would be thought of in Rohan and Gondor, ere he had to fight for his throne. He had time, yet. When Fengel the Fool, the avaricious, capricious King of Rohan passed from the world to whatever fate awaited him, Aragorn would twine his future with that of Thengel King and Theoden Aetheling.

 

“Thank you, my friend. I will see it done.”

 

“You are a fine young man, Aragorn. One day, you will be a fine King.”

 

“I hope so,” Aragorn murmured fervently.

 

Only time would tell; in the distance, the song heralding the new year rose to Aragorn’s ears. He took his leave of Gandalf. The new year had brought him a new purpose. One way or another, the young Chieftain _would_ be King – or like his longfather Arvedui, he would let his people fall to ruin. He did _not_ plan to let that happen.


End file.
